


From a Distance

by yukitan



Series: To Balter [2]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: BAMF Q, Character Study, Guns, M/M, agent bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-23
Updated: 2014-01-30
Packaged: 2018-01-09 18:28:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1149354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yukitan/pseuds/yukitan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>007 has a mission in Sicily. </p><p>When it threatens to go up in flames, guess who happens to be in the city?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**June 17**

It really was a really simple mission.

Deliver one Thomas Hope, a middle aged British financial journalist, safely to the Sicilian hotel where he was to about to present a detailed and controversial report investigating the ties between several prominent transnational organizations based in Europe and the Sicilian mafia to a gathering of prominent U.N. representatives after months of investigative work in the capital of organized crime.

James Bond, 007, certainly didn’t expect it to have gone the way it did.

* * *

**June 24**

The wheels touched the airport tarmac at last, and Q finally relaxed, even as the jittery landing shook all the passengers in their seats. He stood up, then sat back down gingerly, and smiled at the attendant who gladly removed his suitcase from the overhead apartment for him.

The moment he stepped out of the plane, he was already regretting his decision to wear a long sleeved shirt. Already, he was feeling awfully stuffy, the humidity and -oh god- the sun catching up to him as he left the comfort of air conditioning and controlled temperatures, laptop bag and coat in one hand and luggage case in the other.

"I've arrived at Falcone-Borsellino at 1148 hours GMT, 2 minutes behind schedule. The weather is shit, and I have never wanted to see the sun less." Q switched on his earpiece, specially designed to receive and transmit to one frequency only.

"You already don't see much of it, so soak it up. Sicily is always nice this time of the year." the woman on other side of the line answered. Q could almost hear her smile. Her name was Alexander Ling, one of the senior technicians in Q branch, and Q's active communications contact for the duration of the trip. As a safety protocol, Q was meant to call her and state his location every few hours, the connection also serving as a link for Ling to report any immediate emergencies to him in real time.

"I have sensitive skin." Q said, dragging his case behind him as he walked past customs. "Where is he?"

"He should be at the station. I believe he ought to have a sign."

Q glanced around at the group of people with laminated papers printed with agency names and others, looking for the representative from the Italian External Intelligence and Security Agency (AISE).

"I see him. Couldn't have been less cheeky about it, could he?" Q murmured, as he pushed his way through the crowd towards the blond man in a pale green polo shirt holding up a sign that read, of all things, 'Mr Kew'.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After sweeping the room for possible bugs and securing all safe spots for the second time did Q finally relax. Even if the hotel was secured and swept before hand by home agents, Q didn't like to take chances all the same. The AISE tech branch was cooperative and significantly more laid back than what he was used to, and he was looking forward to finishing his work quickly and return home. He wasn't nearly as fond of discussing work matters over lunch as the Italian head of technical services did, even if it was, strictly speaking, completely secure and still within the headquarters.

"It's 2100 hours, GMT. I am in the local hotel, the room is secure."  Q said into his earpiece, already starting up his laptop. "How is England holding up?"

"Not particularly well, sir."

"Hmm? Explain. How bad? Do you need me to, uh, take the morning flight back?" Q asked with a small shudder, waiting for his laptop to connect to wireless. "I've only left London for 10 hours."

"The good news is that nobody has died or downloaded malware so far, and 003 in addition to all the tier one and tier two missions are done. The bad news is that some of the tier threes have hit dead ends, and 007's mission is in a situation.

"What? How come? The Sicily job is child's play compared to what he usually gets up to." Q asked. Then again, his agent seemed to have a bad habit of attracting unwanted attention, even on the simplest of missions. Somehow, any mission that James Bond was on almost always escalated into giant conspiracies playing out on an international stage.

"Both 007 and Mr Hope are injured and there are currently five snipers on the building. We think they’re just trying to prevent Mr Hope from leaving for the summit tomorrow morning, and are prepared to kill.”

"How long have they been there?"

"Close to 3 hours. One since 007 got shot."

"Shit." Q swore under his breath. "Why didn't you call me earlier?"

"M has it under control, there's a second team on their way to Palermo as we speak. They'll be there by midnight."

"That's too long. It's a 3 hour flight. How's his injury?"

"Right forearm hit, but stable. The target has a gunshot wound to the foot."

"Are the snipers the only danger?"

"There have been attempted infiltrations, but 007 can manage those."

"Alright." Q said as he unbuttoned his white shirt and replaced it with a black button up, "Tell him to get ready to move in forty five minutes. I’ll sort it out.”

"What?"

"I'm going to AISE to borrow some equipment."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bleeding out, in general, was a fairly unpleasant experience that he never cared for. Bleeding out in chattering, almost irritating company, was something he didn't care to repeat.

"Will you be  _quiet_  for a minute?"

"We're going to die. The moment you bleed to death, I'm going to be dead. Oh god, and you’re the best the fucking British government has? I’m supposed to be in the hotel now but I’m still holed up in this piece of shit flat I’ve been in since spring…”

Bond grit his teeth in annoyance as the man continued speaking, words almost melding together as he laid, unmoving, on the ground, given the state of his foot, still bleeding from a bullet near his toes. At this point, Bond wasn’t particularly worried if Thomas Hope did pass out from the blood loss. It would certainly make him much less irritable to transport.

The temporary first aid on his own right arm could only hold so long, and attempting to move a wounded civilian one handed with 5 snipers on them was a suicide mission. The only thing he could hope for was that the retrieval unit could arrive on time before the assassins decided that it was better to ensure the two men in the building were definitely destined for the grave by storming the hold than to wait for James and his target to wander into their sights or to wait until the time of the conference had ended and concluded.

He’d been looking forward to delivering the man to the waiting staff early too, and surprising Q in his hotel room. In the meanwhile, there were more pressing issues to worry about, like the fact that he had less than 5 bullets left.

"I've only 4 more shots in my clip. In case you wanted to know.”

"Save the bullets, Q wants you to know that you have to prepare to move out in thirty minutes, on my signal." R, on the other end of the line, said. She was Q’s second in command, and currently the temporary head running Q branch and active missions while Q was away on a rare business trip to the sunny Mediterranean.

"The chances of that happening without some fatal injury are rather slim if you would consider that I have five laser sighted guns aimed at this front."

“It’s on Q’s orders. I hope he has a plan. Do you trust him?”

James' thoughts turned to his quartermaster, the long, thin man with lean muscles lining his slender frame, hiding surprising strength behind his ill fitting cardigans and dark plexiglass frames.

“Yes.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Q paid the driver, then checked his watch. Twenty six more minutes.

He shifted the bag over his shoulder, bypassing the electronic lock by lifting up the cover and cutting off the power. He'd already started mapping out his spot while waiting for his equipment, and knew exactly which room would him the best sweeping view of the entire street, including the known positions of the five snipers, as well as the front of the house James was in.

The sound of a zipper filled the air like a crack as Q opened the heavy metal and cloth case that he'd borrowed from the Italians. A long bolt action sniper rifle sat cushioned on its personal velvet lined case, along with ten bullets in a feeder case and a metal stand. Purposely letting his fingers run over the gun barrel and details on the grip when he removed and set up the gun, memories of a different life resurfaced and a familiar, slow burning fire from his army days reignited in him.

Q switched on his laptop, turning his focus on his assignment. With less than twenty minutes left, he had little time to waste on sentiment. In the dim light of a torch, he took note of the five glowing red dots he had to take out in less than fifteen minutes, and with as much accuracy as possible. The site's proximity to a loud and busy highway would act as a cover to hide the gun shots, as much as they'd been silenced, from both him and the opposition.

His agent was depending on his performance, whether knowingly or not.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

James waited, checking his watch, as time gradually slipped away.

The muffled thud surprised him, his sensitive hearing picking out the echo of something falling out there in the streets among the noise and clatter of the highway behind their building. For a moment, he thought that the hunters outside the building had given up on the wait, or that it was a civilian in the wrong place in the wrong time. He checked that the target was stable and secure again, then picked up his gun and knife as best as he could, and peered around the corner of the window to the street.

It was empty, but for a trio of drunkards in the empty street, the two of them helping their friend up from where he’d tripped on the stone.

"R, status?”

"Eight more minutes, nothing otherwise.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three down, four more minutes. Q was calm, focused, as he replaced the fourth shell. A brief moment of panic had seized him when he saw the

This was his element.

Calculating trajectories, picking the right spot to aim his bullet at, and picking off his target with cold, blunt math. The gun jerked back with a sudden pop as he pulled the trigger, the fired round caught between his fingers, still hot from the gunpowder even through his leather gloves.

Four down, two minutes.

He checked his camera again, making sure that his final target was within sight, the red and purple infrared image still visible. To his surprise, the man moved, seeming to have acknowledged the information that his team mates were dead.

Q looked away from the scope and the camera, glancing down at the street, where three drunks were stumbling, unsteadily, towards the neighbourhood. He grit his teeth and turned his sight to the buildings housing his final target.

Thirty seconds. He made sure his last sight was clear, aimed, and fired, satisfied as the thermal reader on his phone showed five steadily cooling bodies in the buildings opposite.

Ten seconds.

One last check showed that the signs were all clear, save for the trio of civilians on the street below. All the same, he brought his rifle down towards the street, determined to cover James until he could be sure that the man was safe and out of danger.

~

"Prepare to leave on three, 007." R said, "Is the target with you?"

"Yes. We're at the door."

"Ok, now. Go."

James opened the door, peered out, and stepped onto the street, bracing himself for a bullet to rip through his suit.

None came. He darted back into the building, hoisting the injured man onto a piggy back position on his back, walking as quickly as he could towards the car parked opposite the street.

At that, the three men stood up straight and came directly at James, hands ducking into open coats and jackets to pull out a revolver. Himself, he dropped Thomas Hope behind the vehicle, and tucked his hand into his holster instinctively stifling a cry as he hit his injured right hand against his chest. To his immediate surprise and relief, the first of the three gun men dropped to the ground, a spray of blood spattered against the tarmac, followed by the second and the third. Within seconds, the three men were dead, barely five metres from where he stood.

It wasn't hard to imagine that the same sight was to be found in five different spots in the buildings facing him: five men, a fatal bullet in their bodies, in front of their own rifles, aimed, but unfired.

He turned in a quarter circle to glance at the approximate direction the bullets had came from, judging from the way the three assassins had collapsed, hoping to catch a glimpse of the sniper.

"007? What happened? Report!" R’s crisp voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Three disguised gunmen tried to come at me. A sniper took all three out. I'm taking Thomas Hope to the hotel for immediate medical attention, but he’ll survive.” He turned back, picking up the man and helping him lie down in the back of the car, taking care to elevate his foot. “We’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

"Medical and security will be there to receive you immediately. Good job, 007."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He watched from his perch as the door opened, and 007 exited the building, followed by a limping middle aged man. Just as they exited, the three intoxicated men snapped up straight and headed towards the two, hands dipping into their coats for their revolvers. Instantly, Q picked up his gun again, the three men dropping dead, a bullet in their heads or torsos before 007 even had his own pistol out properly.

James looked up and glanced around for his mysterious sniper after he’d ensured that his passenger was secure and for a moment, his eyes seemed to have made contact with Q’s through the scope the younger man was staring at James through. After a brief second, the man’s attention snapped back to the vehicle and his mission, and he pulled open the door to enter the vehicle and drive away.

Q watched from afar as the vehicle drove away and disappeared around a corner. He stood up, brushed his coat, nostrils filled with the acid stench of gunpowder, and started disassembling the rifle to return it to its case.

The mental counter he kept in his head went up by eight more.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens next.

James waited as the medical team weaved the needle through his arm with clear precision, drinking a carton of orange juice. His retrieved target was somewhere else, thank god, and he felt way too much gratitude than he generally did about being back in British hands.

In the morning, he was to catch the first flight (9.36am) back to London and finish his report. When he looked at the clock, it read 12.13am, just barely midnight.

"I'm going out." James told the doctor.

"You're not supposed to..." the woman sighed, realizing that no matter what she said, he would go ahead regardless. "Don't exert your arm too much, and drink some more sugary stuff, your blood sugar's a bit low."

"No problem."

* * *

 

Water dripped down the bridge of his nose as Q rubbed the towel over his hair, lying in dark limp strands over his face. The door bell had been ringing for the past five minutes since bubbles started forming in Q's hair.

Pyjama pants tied, Q walked towards the door, peered through the eye hole, and undid the lock.

"Morning, agent." a satisfied smirk greeted the blonde man leaning against the papered hotel corridor.

"Q." James entered the room after his quartermaster.

"How's your arm?"

"This?" he waved his bandaged arm, "I'll last. It's just a flesh wound."

"Seven stitches and 'just a flesh wound'? Getting a little ahead of yourself, aren't you?" Q said, back turned to James as he walked towards the small bar, removing a bottle from the small fridge. "I had Ling relay the action to me."

"Admittedly, it's a little difficult to duck and defend oneself properly with two assassins, five snipers and a bleeding civilian."

"Mmhmm." He took a swig from the bottle, the towel resting around his bare shoulders falling back onto the floor. "What're you doing here?"

"How can I pass up the chance to see Mr fear of flying outside London and in the middle of Sicily?" three strides, and he was across the room, in front of Q where he perched on the bar stool, shirtless and shameless. The swirls of ink and colour on his torso, wrapped around pink and white gorges in his skin, were so much clearer in the ambient hotel light, a sight that James appreciated and drank in.

"You do know a fear of flying doesn't necessary mean I can't travel." deep green eyes peered down at the blonde man through thick glass. "Your attention probably isn't worth that trouble, on the other hand."

"You don't seem to deny that you like it." James brought a hand up, fingers wrapped around the chilled bottle in Q's hand.

"But then, when have I ever had to do anything purposefully to get _your_ attention?" Q grinned as James leant in close, the arc of his nose fitting perfectly into the arc between his neck and his shoulder. The smells of fresh shampoo, a faint, crisp citrus scent, the light honey tinge of beer, and somewhere, a dusty, burnt smell of fireworks.

"Something you're not telling me?"

"Hmmm?" the fingers running through James' hair paused.

"You smell like gunpowder. Why?"

"Hmmm." Q hummed, leaning back. "Why don't you use your super spy skills? What do you think?"

"Firing range?"

"Maybe. Are you sure it's not you?" Q looked across the room, very pointedly at the case at the foot of his bed. Following his gaze, James stopped his approach and picked up the case. Surprise overcame him, as he stared at the sniping rifle, still stinking of fire and powder from its recent use.

"This is... You...?"

"Arctic international warfare. Pretty, isn't she?"

"The sniper from today… that was you?"

"Don't go around thinking I'll back you up for more missions, though, 007. I just happened to be in the right place at the right time, luckily for you."

He returned the rifle into its case, placing it on the white bed sheets. Evidently, there was more to the frail looking young man without a proper name than he looked. Of course, he'd experienced a taste of that before, but an opportunity to go further was unfurling before him. James would be lying if he said that he wasn't in the least interested in what Q was before he was Q. It would hardly hurt to find out what a person had been, and while truth was stranger than fiction, dwelling in faked circumstances made for a world easily shattered.

Surely, his past encounters had served well to embed that lesson upon him.

"You know everything about me, so now it's my turn."

"I don't know _everything_. I know the name of the house you grew up in, but not how it looks like. I know the size and number of rooms in your apartment, but not the colour of your front door. I know that all of your suits are tailored, but not the name of the man who cuts it." Q filled his gaze with the softly lit city outside the window rather than James, sipping from the half empty bottle. "I entered the special air service reservists with my younger brother, and then trained as a sniper, one of the very best. During my second tour, the jeep my unit was in ran over a mine. The explosion killed half of my troop, and injured the remaining half. I lived, but the force rocked my brain and I lost my short sight. Can't see anything within ten metres, and while that doesn't matter for a sniper, it does for an active soldier."

"What happened to your brother?"

"Vincent killed himself a year ago. Carbon monoxide poisoning. I could save him from the bullets and the shrapnel, but I couldn't save him from the war."

"Oh."

"I went back to university, finished my masters, then picked up a new passion in computers and infocom technology. Hacked a few things, got into a bit of controversy, and the government came in. The SIS asked if I'd like a better job, and I did."

"I'm sorry." James said, walking to stand next to Q. "If I've said or done anything insensitive in that area."

Q turned on his heel to face James, one eyebrow raised quizzically. "Look at what I do, 007. If I'm affected easily by actions or words, I wouldn't be here. Don't be an idiot. Now scurry off, you have work in the morning."

"As do you." the older man snaked a hand down Q's waist, unconsciously tracing the thin lines and scars etched into the pale skin.

"Correct. However, I do have acute insomnia and an unlimited supply of undiluted espresso at my workplace." Q finished his bottle, peered at the label briefly, and prodded the still chilly bottle at James' stray hand.

" 'Work' in the morning is defined as a business class flight to London and a mission report form to be filled."

"I can only imagine the effort you take to facilitate these tasks to the best you can." Q deadpanned. He shook out a white t shirt from the small folded pile in the closet and pulled it over his head and torso. The tattoos peeked out from the wide neck of the shirt and the short sleeves, the colour and shapes stopping at his elbow. Clothes on and hair still damp, he plugged his phone into the charger, and lugged the rifle case to the reasonably sized counter top. Peering over his shoulder, Q sighed, "You're welcome to leave or stay."

Surprised, and frankly a little confused, James tucked his hands into his trouser pockets in a bid to find something to do, not sure of how to hold himself or to carry himself. He'd entered Q's territory expecting something similar to their last outside encounter, but he was slowly realizing that he might have been misreading Q all along. "Uhm."

Noticing his obvious discomfort, Q turned around to face his on and off boyfriend. "I'm not that kind of person after an active mission, James, you have to understand. It's all math to me. Even if there are eight more bodies under my name and it makes me sound like an emotionless robot, it's just a number to me. I don't need stress relief sex or any form of relief at all. If you do decide to find your own company to relieve that extra testosterone, you're welcome to, and I shan't think any less of you for it. Yet if you're expecting anything from me here and now, then the only words I have for you are 'go away'."

"Q, I-"

"Don't have to say you're sorry, because you're not. I do like you very much, but when it comes to intimacy and approaches, I will never force myself to pretend to enjoy something I do not."

"I do get that, Q." James walked around to the other side of the bar, covering Q's hand with his own. Whatever he left unsaid, Q understood. _I'm sorry. I have never had anything like this. I apologize for misreading the atmosphere. I should have done my research. I'm sorry if I've insulted your intelligence and ability._

Green eyes staring into blue ones, Q broke the eye contact by blinking and bringing his head down.

_Thank you._

He spread a dry towel over the marble, laying out the pieces one by one to clean before he returned the equipment in the morning. On his side of the counter, 007 had disassembled his own gun.

Q planted his feet on the cool wooden floor and balanced himself over the counter, leaning forward to plant a brief kiss on James' cheek.

His foot slid against the polished floor, and his body overbalanced, unintentionally pushing against James. The bulkier man caught him in time, as Q stared back, flush with embarrassment.

With the older man's arms wrapped around him, and his face eye level to his, Q pursed his lips in a small smile and pressed closer to push his lips towards James' own.

_One kiss._

"Okay." Q returned to his seat, composed posture and quiet expression once more.

"Ok." James smiled cheerfully, focusing on maintaining his own weapon.

Still, it seemed that he'd lost a bit of the military stillness and stiffness around his shoulders, and the corners around his lips seemed to soften into an effortless line.

The silence was good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a general idea of where this was going then it kind of steered down a different road. I don't really like it? But it has elements of what I wanted in it? I have no clue. On another note, happy lunar new year (:


End file.
